


Traditions

by Sindaria



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, FE3H Secret Santa, First Kiss, Gift Fic, Modern AU, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22054105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sindaria/pseuds/Sindaria
Summary: Seteth scoffs at traditions, but there may be one he can't resist.Modern AU. Written for the FE3H Project Hub Secret Santa. Pure, unabashed Setleth fluff.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth & Seteth, My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 10
Kudos: 112





	Traditions

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift fic for @officialaesthel on Twitter, who was my Secret Santa for the FE3H Project Hub Secret Santa event! Coming in just under the wire here, but I hope you enjoy it just the same. <3

“Your office is not the least bit festive.” 

Seteth did not even have to look up from his breakfast--a slightly-overcooked waffle sitting in a pool of butter and syrup--to acknowledge that his "sister" was right. His office had always been tailored to the subjects of his lectures. As he was often placed in a different hall every semester, this was the only space he had that was truly his own. 

Even now, late into the month of the Ethereal Moon, it was decorated with ancient weaponry in pristine cases, faded diagrams, maps that were centuries old, and several bookcases stacked full of volumes the college’s bookstore refused to carry on his behalf, saying they were “too expensive” and “irrelevant to modern times.” 

“Every square inch of Garreg Mach is decorated for the holiday,” he said, trying--and largely failing--to hide the contempt in his voice. “I see no need to decorate my office, as well.” 

Flayn outright scowled at him, an expression that had never been common to her features. Even now it pulled in ways that were--to be entirely truthful--comical. Seteth just knew better than to laugh. 

“You are such a _Scrooge_ , Brother.” 

Seteth arched a brow, his fork sweeping through the lake of syrup to retrieve an already cut piece of waffle. “Simply because I do not wish to decorate my office?” 

“First you insist on a fake tree so that we can just use it again next year, then you say we are only to give each other one gift each, spending no more than $50 to do so, then you avoid putting lights anywhere near the house because it is ‘a fire hazard,’ and yes, _now_ because you refuse to decorate your office.” 

She became more and more distressed as she spoke, and Seteth felt a pang of guilt. The last thing he wished to do was upset her. She had spent so long asleep, so long apart from this world that of course there was a part of him that understood she wished to embrace new traditions. No matter how absurd he found them. 

There was another part, though, that was old and stubborn and quite disliked what Fódlan had managed to do to Holy Saints Day--even if he was of the opinion that he and his other living siblings did not deserve such an honor. The ones who had been slain, whose tombs had been ransacked, whose bones had been crafted into weapons… they certainly did. 

“This season is not about festive decorations. You of all people should know that,” he said levelly. 

“ _I_ am one of the people that is being celebrated, and I say that it can be about whatever makes people happy,” she hissed. 

Though she spoke in little more than a whisper--and though his office was entirely devoid of other people--Seteth was still overcome by a wash of cold. He held his breath, waiting to hear footsteps retreating down the hall. None came. 

“Flayn, we--” 

“I do not wish to hear it today.” She stood, her chair scraping against the wood laminate. Seteth gritted his teeth at the noise. “My peers have invited me to a Saints Day party tonight, and I will be going. End of story.” 

“Which friends? Do I know them? Have you given me their numbers?” He followed her to the door, well aware she was ignoring him.

“Enjoy the rest of your day, Brother. Perhaps you might even consider going to the faculty Saints Day party, as well. I have heard Professor Byleth will be there.” She shot him a look over her shoulder that was far too knowing for his comfort. 

And far too effective, as Seteth found himself speechless, a touch of pink rising in his (thankfully hidden) ears. 

Byleth. She’d only joined his department six months ago, but she was beloved by faculty and students alike for her… unorthodox methods of teaching. No doubt she would already be joined by someone at the holiday party. That person would certainly not be Seteth as--despite his inconvenient and frankly juvenile interest in the woman--he’d made no overtures to vie for her time or affection. He’d treated her civilly… perhaps a bit coolly, at first, and yet somehow Flayn still knew. 

And of course she was already gone, several strides down the hall. He wanted to ask after her thoughts; her feelings. It had been some time since the death of Flayn’s mother, but this was still an adjustment that could not be made easily. 

_What adjustment?_ He scoffed as the thought came to mind, and made his way back to his desk. _Nothing shall come of it, and that is for the best._

Byleth had her pick of men and women who would be more than happy to stand at her side. Even if he made the effort--even if he could afford to do so--what chance did he have? Perhaps that was why this Holy Saints Day had seemed particularly offensive, and why even now, Seteth simply returned his attention to grading papers and tried not to think about the enchanting and enigmatic professor.

*** 

Byleth was convinced Mariah Carey had a personal vendetta against her. 

For two weeks now, it seemed like she couldn’t go anywhere without hearing _that_ song. Oh, she’d taken no offense to it before. For most of her life, she’d adored it and sang it gleefully whenever it came on the radio. She’d even offered the same olive branch this year… initially. The first few times it played. 

After that, it was clear the artist--who couldn’t possibly know her or her dilemma--was mocking her. Because inevitably, every time she thought of _him_ , that song would play. Every. Single. Time. 

Byleth of course dismissed the fact that she often found herself thinking of him, despite her best efforts to just move on with her life and turn her attention toward someone who might actually have an interest in her beyond the professional. But she didn’t want anyone else, for Saints Day or any other day. She wanted him. 

And that was how she found herself snapping a pencil in half as the song blared once again from Manuela’s phone. 

“My goodness,” the older woman said, giving her a sly look, “if I’d known a change in ringtone would inspire such passion, I would have done it a long time ago.” 

Byleth winced, then glanced down at the destruction she’d wrought, letting the two halves of her pencil fall to the desk. “Sorry. That song’s just been a sore spot for me lately.” 

“Because you’re all alone for Saints Day?” Manuela leaned against her desk, her bottom lip stuck out in a pout. “So am I, pumpkin. We could both fix that, if you like.” 

She could tell by the woman’s tone that she was just teasing. Manuela had always seemed like the aggressive type, but she knew where the line was. When Byleth told her she’d prefer to stay friends, she’d pouted a bit, but she hadn’t crossed it. And it was obvious from the spark in the other professor’s eyes that she was chasing down a deeper tease, not just flirting. 

“Oh, but I’m not your type, am I? You prefer the tall and grumpy ones.” She flashed Byleth a smile that was not unlike a lioness flashing her teeth at a gazelle. 

Byleth had the grace to roll her eyes and somehow keep from blushing. “And you can see where it’s gotten me. No date for the party. No one to spend the holiday with. My students felt so bad for me one of them offered to let me come home with them during the break.” 

“Were they attractive, at least?” 

“Manuela.” It wasn’t often Byleth used the stern voice she’d inherited from her dad, but she found occasion to do it then.

“‘Manuela’ nothing! You’re sitting here moping. I have free reign to make all the terrible jokes I want. Unless…” The woman’s lips curved into a sly smile. “You’d like some advice?” 

Advice from Manuela was… suspect, at best. Byleth loved her friend, but her history with men was a fiery train wreck on the best days. Half the time she picked absolute losers, the other half she clung to someone who was never going to love her as much as she loved them. It made Byleth sad, more often than not. And angry. She’d used a leaf blower and a very large cardboard box to fill the last one’s car with packing peanuts. 

Was there a point to it? Not really. Had she done it anyway? You bet your ass. 

Right now, though, she wasn’t exactly in a position to turn down advice from anyone. She’d been pining after Seteth for an entire semester. It’d passed the point of harmless crush and had just turned into a pathetic excuse for her to stay home on Saturday nights with her cats. As much as she loved her cats, she wouldn’t mind spending her Saturdays with Seteth, instead. 

“You know what? Sure. It can’t possibly make things worse.” 

_Famous last words._

“Excellent! So, office Saints Day party. You sneak in a little _something_ , then when no one’s looking, pour it into the punch bowl. Then--” 

Byleth just stared at her. “I’m not spiking the eggnog."

The older woman let out a frustrated huff. “This is why you’re single, you know. You’re too afraid to take chances.” She pouted again, a look Byleth had long since learned to ignore. After a moment, though, she said, “Oh! I’ve got it.” 

She looked at her friend skeptically, one brow arched, and waited for the next piece of terrible advice. 

“Mistletoe.” Manuela beamed at her as if it was the most brilliant idea in the history of brilliant ideas. “There’s bound to be some at the party. Sure, you might end up having to kiss some crusty old fart like Hanneman,” the woman made a face and Byleth’s lips tugged into a smirk, “but eventually your green-haired grump is bound to wander through a doorway.” 

At first, the idea sounded too… aggressive for her liking. She imagined trapping poor Seteth against a doorframe and kissing him senseless, which… wasn’t a terrible thing to imagine, actually. Far from it. But only if he was consenting, and the whole concept of mistletoe was a little sketchy. The social pressure to uphold tradition could make him do something he didn’t want to do, which would be absolutely mortifying. 

Maybe she could give him a choice--make it clear he didn’t have to, and silence anyone who might judge him. It was better than the non-existent plan she’d had before, and at the very least she might be able to steal a few moments of his attention for conversation. At the very best…

“What the hell? My love life can’t possibly get any more pathetic, so… mistletoe it is.” 

*** 

The faculty Saints Day party was a necessary evil--it was the only thing that could possibly keep him from pestering his daughter. 

If left to his own devices, Seteth would have absolutely texted her every half hour to make certain she was safe, that she wasn’t drinking, that there were no unfortunate young men who had a death wish. As it was, he’d already texted her hourly, and had taken to staring at the little dot on his family tracker app as if the barest hint of movement was in any way significant. 

He recognized his own madness, and though he had a good reason for it, Seteth decided it was a better idea to leave her be. She hadn’t been happy with him when she left, after all, so his particular brand of helicopter parenting wasn’t going to end well for either of them. He had to learn to just… let her have some space; room to breathe. 

Never had he found himself in more misery from the fact that his blood made it very difficult for him to even reach the point of being tipsy. 

Though… perhaps that was a blessing in disguise. He didn’t need to make a fool of himself texting his daughter. Or texting anyone else. Instead he could make a fool of himself by surreptitiously glancing at that _anyone else_ with far too much longing for his liking. 

She looked lovely tonight, even if she was wearing the most unflattering sweater he’d ever seen. It still hung off her shoulder, exposing a strip of lacy black fabric beneath. And while nothing could make that sweater appealing, the skirt she wore--and the way said skirt showed off her patterned stockings--went a long way toward making it less of an eyesore. 

_Clearly, since you keep staring at her._

She’d not looked his way, of course. There were plenty of young, handsome men here who had a great deal of interest in her. None of them were good enough for her, but it wasn’t his place to say that aloud. Instead he was just going to spend his time holding up the wall, exchanging pleasantries with the people who came up to him, all in attempt to not let his pining be so obvious. 

It was a difficult feat without something to distract him, though. Manuela mentioned spiced eggnog, which he imagined was “spiced” with rum. While it would do little to affect him, it would at least give him something to hold and occasionally sip for brief bouts of distraction. Resigned to his fate, Seteth started that way, only to spot Byleth out of the corner of his eye. Hurrying toward him. A flush high in her cheeks. 

_What on earth…?_

“Oh, sorry,” she said, stuck in the doorway with him, not meeting his gaze. “Manuela said I just _had_ to try the eggnog, and of course it had to be right now.” 

“That is quite all right,” he gestured for her to go ahead, baffled by her behavior. 

She looked positively flustered, which was absurd. 

He swore she muttered something under her breath. Something similar to “fuck it,” but he was likely just hearing things. What was harder to dismiss was the way her gaze swept upward, and the words that very clearly left her mouth afterward.

“Look. Mistletoe." He did indeed look, finding the loathsome sprig. "You know what that means.” 

Seteth’s heart began to hammer, threatening to beat straight out of his ribcage. His face was impassive--he forced it to remain neutral--but all the while he scrutinized her expression, looking for any sign that she was joking. 

What he saw was the strangest cocktail of nerves and frustration.

“You know… I’m sorry, this is silly. It’s a stupid tradition, and you don’t have to honor it if you don’t want to. Just because I can’t find any other way to get you to kiss me doesn’t mean you need to feel locked into doing something so… oh, what word would you use? _Juvenile_?” 

All he could do was stare at her, occasionally blinking when the sting in his eyes demanded it. Get him to kiss her? Surely she didn’t mean what he thought she did. It was… it was just a turn of phrase he couldn’t possibly understand. Yes. That was it.

“Aaaand you’re not saying anything. You’re just staring at me like I’m insane, which I definitely am. So I’m just going to… go sink into the earth now. Okay. Yep.” 

His hand shot out on impulse to stop her, gently grasping her arm. Byleth looked down at it, then him, and Seteth realized he was going to have to say… something. But what could he possibly say? So many thoughts were racing through his mind, many of them colliding into one another. It wasn’t a turn of phrase. She was genuinely embarrassed. Perhaps because she’d realized the thought of kissing him was ridiculous and not something she should want. Or perhaps because she was as terrified as he was. 

The last seemed impossible, and yet… she was staring at him with wide eyes, that touch of fear all too easy to see, joined by the tiniest shred of hope.

“I have been told I need to embrace tradition,” he found himself saying, far bolder than he’d ever intended to be.

Bolder, still, was the step forward. Then the next. Seteth reached the peak of his courage when the hand at her arm lifted to cup her face. His gaze flicked to hers, finding no small amount of shock there. It was almost enough to make him pull back and curse himself for a fool.

Until she grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him the rest of the way down, her mouth fitting to his with an eagerness that soon eased into a slow, exploratory caress. Warmth flooded him, a lightness lifting his heart in a way he hadn’t felt for a very long time. For those few, too-brief moments as his lips moved against hers, nothing else mattered or even existed. 

He was the first to break the kiss, taking in the sheer joy he saw written across her features. It was impossible not to smile, as well, though he hadn’t a clue what to say. The words just wouldn’t come to him, and there was nothing that could adequately describe that moment they’d just shared. 

Unfortunately, someone else saw fit to fill the silence. 

“And this is why you should always take my advice.” An arm was thrown about him and Byleth both, eggnog sloshing precariously in a Solo cup. 

“Manuela…” 

Byleth’s face was beet red, her gaze downcast for a long moment. That smile, though… it was both genuine and secret, as if it was meant only for him. His heart swelled to see it, especially when her gaze met his once more. 

Perhaps Flayn was right. Perhaps it _was_ time to adopt some new traditions.

**Author's Note:**

> Saints Day is effectively Christmas here. You would (not) be surprised by the fact that I had to find/replace Christmas, despite intending to call it Saints Day from the start. 
> 
> Also, I could have just made up some alternate artist with an alternate catchy Christmas song, but now we all have to live with the mind-melting idea that Mariah Carey apparently exists in the Fire Emblem universe. You're welcome. 
> 
> Happy Holidays, everyone. <3 For those still waiting on Under Your Skin, it'll be returning in the new year.


End file.
